Kyla's eyes went to Master Elwith, as he led Masis and her down a long, empty corridor. Various tunnels branched off from the one they had traveled down for some time, but they had never taken any of them. Ever onward they went. Always straight. Not a degree of deviation to the right or to the left. Master Elwith had said that the passage led directly toward the sovereigns' palace, but only he could know the truth of that statement until they arrived.
Kyla nearly swore as she trod on her hem yet again.
Curse this blasted dress! Now, I remember why I stopped wearing these things.
She had worn the dress partly because it was the only clothing the mages had provided and partly because her own garments, though not threadbare, had become, perhaps, a tad weatherworn. But she had refused to wear the shoes. Had she ever liked wearing them? Four hundred years of not wearing any type of footwear had built up a substantial pad of calluses on her feet. At this point shoes were obsolete. More people really should have followed her example.
Stop that! she scolded herself. Stay focused!
She had no idea what surprises Master Elwith had in store.
No sunlight made it to the depths. Only seeing-stones gleamed with their poor imitation. No wind stirred and refreshed the air. Only stale atmosphere hung, like musty, unwashed curtains. Sounds did not get swallowed by the open-mawed sky, but rather echoed forward and backward along the smooth corridors, announcing and re-announcing every sound. Eyes darting, chest tight, the walls never moved but seemed to close ranks on Kyla nonetheless. This place, dark and deep and oppressive, ripped Kyla from her element.
On the other hand, face clean shaven, reeking of soap, Masis strode along as though not a care weighed him down. Quite the contrary. Shoulders pulled neatly back, chin held aloft, he strode forward with the self-assured mantle and mien of a nobleman.
The fool probably isn't even paying attention, thought Kyla, flicking a hand out to clip his ear.
Masis blocked the assault without breaking stride or turning his attention to her. Ever forward his eyes remained, though a faint smirk colored his mouth.
Blast this boy! Kyla sucked in a constricted breath. And blast Elwith and blast this tunnel!
Eyes flitting about always finding the same dark stone walls in every direction, Kyla turned her mindeye out roving over the only lifelight available to her: Master Elwith's.
Uniform and strictly regulated, much like a soldier at attention, his lifelight constantly remixed and convected, its golden shimmer ever rising and sinking in on itself. Well regimented, almost flawless, how well contained Master Elwith kept his lifelight would impress almost anyone, even Lady Kyla. However, despite its order and control, that single blemish, that dark soulwound, impenetrable to her mindeye, disturbed her. So profound in depth, Kyla had no means to determine whether such a tumor was simply a character flaw Master Elwith refused to address or something else. Something disturbing to even consider.
"Do the sovereigns know that we've arrived?" asked Kyla.
Master Elwith did not slow his pace nor did he turn to answer. "They know that they're meeting with very distinguished individuals, but they don't know who specifically."
"Why haven't you told them? I would have thought you would want to prepare them for our meeting, especially considering who I am and who I brought with me."
"And what proof could I offer?" asked Master Elwith, voice even. "Put in their position, would you believe even a most trusted confidante with a story such as this. I hardly think Lord Domrae's father would have believed even his steward, if he came to him with such a tale, now, would he, milord?"
Kyla glanced at Masis as he hesitated to respond. "No... no, he would require proof."
"My point exactly," said Master Elwith. "I would prefer to present them with proof that will not only assure them of the benefit you'll provide to Haimlant but her allies as well."
Allies? wondered Kyla, eyes raking up and down his back. What allies?
"Don't you think revealing the reemergence of the Warden and myself to everyone and their horse a bit premature?"
"Quite the contrary, Lady Kyla," said Master Elwith, his words batting away any sarcasm still hanging in the air. "This news will only solidify our position and help rally support for the final push to eradicate all the feral night wights."
There's that word again, thought Kyla, tallying its use.
"I still think we should wait..."
"We're here," said Master Elwith, cutting Kyla off.
The tunnel had come to a dead-end, drawing them all to a stop. A wall with a spiral of lines weaving over and under each other stood before them. Raising his hand to lay it against the smooth center, Master Elwith paused, hand hesitating then drawing back as he turned to face them.
"Lady Kyla." He pressed his palms together. "You haven't mingled in polite society for some centuries now. It might be wise to keep your comments a bit guarded. It wouldn't do for you to insult any of the guests and unsettle our newly formed treaty."
Again, that dark ulcer in his lifelight floated into her mindeye's view.
What's that supposed to mean? Kyla fumed, teeth clenched, eyes unblinking. She had paid attention over the years. She was not so out of practice as to make a fool of herself. Besides, when in doubt simply keep silent. I can do that.
Master Elwith turned back to the wall without another word. Pressing his hand to the center of the design, lifelight flaring, the wall dissolved, melting into the walls, ceiling, and floor. He stepped through the newly formed doorway, inviting Masis and Kyla through with a gesture. The stone flowed back into place behind them without so much as a grumble or grate. The High Mage set out again at a brisk pace, not waiting to see if they followed. Even if he somehow did manage to abandon them in the now much more spacious corridors, the strong scent of bath oils would lead Kyla right to him. She let Master Elwith take the lead, allowing a few paces to open between them. While the distance widened between the mage and herself, Kyla drew closer to Masis.
"What do you make of the situation?" whispered Kyla.
Masis kept his face ever forward but spoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Are you actually asking me what I think? Didn't you tell me that I was just a sapling that would break in the winds of adversity because of my lack of experience?"
During his training she had called him many things, especially when he made a mistake or said something stupid—initially he had a tendency to do both often. That particular insult was one of her more poetic lambastings. She parried his question with pregnant silence, often the most effective rebuttal.
"It feels... wrong," said Masis, the silence drawing out his words. "The way Master Elwith keeps talking about feral night wights and the treaty. I only met the man a handful of times and only ever for official events, but he seemed, I don't know, more stern, unyielding. By comparison, this is a man bewitched." His eyes shifted over to her for an instant. "And it sounds like the treaty has already been signed. What do you make of it all?"
Kyla offered no reply. Masis' tread filled the air, his boots sounding out their pace.
"If the treaty has been signed," said Kyla, her volume falling even further to a point only a Warden could hear, "that means it has the support of both the sovereigns, not just Master Elwith. He couldn't have made it happen alone. At least, in the past the High Mage wouldn't have been able to. He was right about one thing: things have changed in the last four hundred years. I had best be on my guard. We had both best be on our guard."
As they passed a servant dressed in royal livery standing at attention along the wall, she held back her words. Her eyes dissected every inch of the fellow. A squint of disapproval narrowed them.
Why do servants have to be uniformed like soldiers now? wondered Kyla, after they had passed. Matching leathers, different colors to distinguish rank or family. In Kyla's time, a person knew a servant by the hat they wore. It's not good enough to have servants, now you have to make sure everyone else knows you do.
"We had best be on our guard... and?" asked Masis.
His voice drew Kyla out of her head.
"If a treaty really has been established between the wighties and the sovereigns, they had to meet somewhere to fix on the exact points. But if they're fool enough to enter an alliance with ruddy wighties, they might also be fool enough to meet them in the capital itself. If that's the case, be ready to fight your way out if need be."
Masis nodded. "Do you think it will come to that?"
"I hope not," she said, eyeing Master Elwith's back. "Without the sovereigns' support, getting rid of the wighties would be nearly if not impossible. With them as our enemies..."
Kyla slid her hand along her ribcage, pressing against the individual bones that nearly ended her life. Neither smarted. Hand still in place she pulled in a long, expanding breath. No pain. Not a single twinge of constriction. But still, despite having regained her health, Kyla felt unbalanced, off-kilter, unable to settle.
This new battlefield they had entered, with all its courtly subtleties and pandering pomp, was one she had barely tolerated when she had belonged to it, and now that she had shunned it for so long, reconciliation let alone toleration seemed beyond possibility. Long ago, as a girl of thirty, she might have occasionally enjoyed the intrigue, the rush of excitement that it brought, the warmth of concentration while searching for a political solution, and the climatic exultation of triumph. Now, this field of battle, festooned with its fine linen, simpering words, and noble titles, scented with cloying perfume, was nothing more than a petty and trite struggle for a fleeting grasp at power, most often at the expense of everyone else. If Master Elwith or either of the sovereigns had been compromised in some way, she would not have time to observe all the courtly protocol.
"Make sure to see if anyone is mesmerized," said Kyla, still whispering. The soulwound on Master Elwith's lifelight came into her mindeye again. "In fact, have you noticed that spot in Master..."
"We're here," said Master Elwith, cutting off Kyla's question.
They stood beside large wooden doors, more than double their height, many levels of paneling seamlessly worked into their surfaces. Servants flanked either side of the portal, standing sentry beneath two pale seeing-stones.
Back toward the door, Master Elwith barred the way. "As I said before, neither the king or queen know who I am bringing to see them. It will be only the sovereigns and myself at this informal meeting. It would be best to let them lead the discussion, owing to the fact that neither of you are well informed about the current situation."
Oh, I'll let you lead me, thought Kyla, her mind sour with irony. Right over a cliff most likely.
She nodded and Masis followed her lead.
Turning, Master Elwith gave the servants leave to open the doors. They parted without a sound, the air rushing into Kyla's face bearing with it the stomach-gurgling scents of scones, tea, and other morsels. Her acute nose quickly informed her empty stomach just how much it not only wanted food but needed it, especially in large, piping-hot quantities.
Sitting in elegantly carved chairs were a man and woman, possessing strong eyes, well kempt hair, and fine clothing. At the doors' opening the couples faces, at first near each other, their lips abuzz with conversation, separated, turning toward the new arrivals.
"My sovereigns," said Master Elwith, bowing ever so slightly, "may I present to you His Grace, Masis Domrae, former Duke of Asthurn, whom you know, and our special guest," gesturing toward Kyla, "Lady Kyla Gaudin, former Warden of Haimlant."
************
At the sound of his name, Masis hesitated, the title had never been applied to him before, and, now, it was denied him. Something he had prepared his entire life for was now an honorary token. The memory of seeing his face in the mirror before bathing tensed his mind.
It had been clean. Not a remnant of the shadow mark had remained. It had taken him a full five minutes to abandon his reflection, afraid that the next time he peeked it would be back.
With his cleansing, he could go home, back to his friends, back to those who were like family, such as Polras, Casm, and especially Calla. He could become what his parents had prepared him to become.
But could he? He only had partially gained the abilities of the Warden. He had a work to do. His jaw clenched. His family called out to him from the Grand Palaces to be avenged.
But who was he? He did not know anymore. Not a Shadow. Not quite a duke. Not quite the Warden.
A cough drew his attention back to the room. Every set of eyes bore into him.
He cleared his throat and stepped back, bowing. "Your Majesties."
Beside him Kyla's stomach protested with loud squelching noises, as she dipped into a neat curtsy, antiquated but sufficient for royal deference. He fought the twitching that tugged at the corners of his mouth as another burble growled from her midsection. Out of the corner of his eye, Masis detected the hard-lined slit of Kyla's mouth. Her lifelight blazed brilliantly with hot irritation.
She's going to have words with her stomach after this, thought Masis. Or she'll just beat it into submission.
Ceiling to floor bookcases, fashioned from dark hardwood, lined each wall. Tomes and leather bound books, rich in color and aroma, filled each of the shelves. Candle-light toned mage-stones hung in a wooden chandelier, making the space closer, more intimate. With comfortable furniture, but not losing its stately dimensions, the space reminisced of the drawing room in which Masis and his family had spent much of their time.
His heart twisted with bitter-sweet nostalgia.
"Lady Kyla, is it?" asked King Othrad, distracting Masis. The king and queen exchanged glances. Both remained relaxed as though meeting a figure straight out of history happened every day.
The queen's hands settled on the tea things, fingers hooking the tea pot's ceramic handle. Pulling a cup closer, Queen Brishwyn stopped to consider. "How does a former Warden of Haimlant take her tea?"
"Your majesties?" asked Master Elwith, face falling, his confident tone seeping away. "Did you not hear..."
"A twist of lemon, two lumps of sugar, and a splash of brandy," said Kyla, over the top of Master Elwith's words.
Another glance passed between the two monarchs before they burst out laughing at the befuddled expression stamped on Master Elwith's face. Their laughter did very little to rectify his confusion, though he snapped his mouth closed and irritation pinched his eyes. They slid from the queen to the king and back again repeatedly. In Masis' mindeye, the mage's lifelight sputtered and spurted, colors bleeding into each other muddying his entire core as though he did not know how to be in that exact moment. Except for that one migrating blotch, dark and deep, his lifelight mixed and churned with uncertainty, an earthy, moldering scent.
Lady Kyla had seated herself without royal permission in the midst of their levity, filling a plate with the various tea offerings and enthusiastically tucking into the vittles. Without turning, Masis detected the savory aroma of bread, cheese, and meat, all going with surprising rapidity into Kyla's mouth. Her teeth munched and crunched in Masis' keen ear and her lifelight sparked with golden motes, a sweet happy mix.
So, food is the key, thought Masis, amazed at the amount of food that Kyla fit into her mouth without it breaching her barely sealed lips. She really had been out of polite society for a bit too long.
He tried signaling her. On the second attempt, an angry slash of red burned through her lifelight, but the rate of her voracious attack slowed. Her breath came heavily through her nose like a horse.
Laughter dying away, Masis' attention pulled back to the king and queen. Wiping their eyes and the corners of their mouths, they composed themselves, the queen straightening her husband's coat and the king tucking a strand of hair behind his wife's ear. Sniggers and squeaks escaped their twitching mouths but for the most part their outburst had come to a rollicking end. They turned their attention back to the High Mage, laughing smiles still tightening their cheeks.
"Come, come, Mater Elwith," said King Othrad. "Do you really think that your predecessors were the only ones that Lady Kyla consulted with all those centuries ago?"
No reply came from Master Elwith.
"As the history goes," said King Othrad, "Lady Kyla, came to my distant ancestor and arranged for a means of identification. Pass phrases were agreed on but one additional proviso was insisted on: she had to be introduced to the future sovereigns by the High Mage of Haimlant, further ensuring that an impostor could never accidentally stumble into the correct circumstances."
King Othrad's explanation ended as his wife passed him a now full, steaming cup of tea ensconced in a saucer. He accepted it with a grateful nod, before taking a quick sip of the piping hot liquid. Turning his attention to the platters, his hand hesitated over the nearly depleted offerings, his gaze jumping to Kyla and back again, before selecting a buttered morsel of bread. He took a quick bite before nestling it next to his cup.
What is he going to think of her? wondered Masis, his eyes closing with pained slowness, still standing behind a chair, not having been invited to sit. Be prepared for every circumstance, she says. Never do anything that will expose yourself, she insists. Well, she had better start taking her own advice.
"Lord Domrae, would you care to take a seat?" asked Queen Brishwyn.
Eyes snapping open, Masis sat with polite obedience.
Master Elwith spoke no other words but rather stood in place, brooding. His lifelight burbling and bubbling, digesting the new tidbits.
"Tea?" The queen asked, already pouring the hot liquid into an empty cup.
"Yes, thank you," replied Masis, roused from his observations, accepting the queen's offering.
The smooth, well-crafted porcelain seemed strange after the many weeks and months of living without these niceties. Delicate and fragile, the cup and saucer represented the divide between the life he had been born to and the life to which his recent past had begun to convert him. Like the brittle vessel, his old life required finesse, especially when dealing with those of his own rank. Handling the finery of his former world required a conscious effort so as not to spill its contents or accidentally let it crash to the floor.
What Lady Kyla offered, with her brusque antics and direct tactics, was far simpler. No more weighing every word or considering the implication of every gesture. No more veiled talk or subtle insults. No more expectations or false kindness to curry favor. Only simple action, devoid of beadledom—doing what needed to be done no matter who might take offense or who might object.
But at what cost? His home? His friends? His remaining loved ones?
Masis turned his attention back to Kyla, who had swallowed most of her food except for one packed cheek. He covered his eyes with a hand. Someone needed to remind her of the proper way to eat.
"Master Elwith, please, sit," ordered the King. "We have much to discuss as you can well imagine."
The king's command roused the High Mage from his ponderings and he finally took a seat, accepting a cup of tea from the queen as he did so. He sipped, drawing away quickly as the scalding liquid hit his tongue.
Master Elwith grimaced. "In all the years I have known Your Majesties, neither of you has so much as dropped a hint."
"Neither have you," said Queen Brishwyn, sipping her tea as she finished.
Her eyes never rested on Master Elwith, but the accusation slipped into the statement as she slid her cup and saucer onto the low table in the midst of them.
"I'm sure the mages simply didn't believe that Lady Kyla would return, sunshine," interjected King Othrad, setting aside his cup with a clink.
"I'm sure," she retorted, lifelight shot through with crimson accusation as she and her husband exchanged a look. Hers challenging. His placating.
"Lady Kyla," said King Othrad quickly before his wife could jump back into the argumentative tide that had begun to eddy about the room, "we thank you for showing yourself after these many centuries... but we are at a loss as to why now you have decided to do so. If I understand correctly, you were to return upon finding a new Warden, and while we are grateful for the obvious purging of Lord Domrae, such seems hardly worthy of your belated emergence."
Belated? Masis winced as he observed Kyla out of the corner of his eye. His jaw clenched. She's not going to like that. Not one bit. I've seen better tact from her than that.
Kyla swallowed what remained in her mouth, a loud gulp squeezing out of her throat as she forced the food down. Discarding her tea cup none too gently, her hands smoothed her dress's material down her legs, meticulously working out each fold and wrinkle, her arms taut, the muscles straining and trembling with restraint. Air, scrabbling in through her nose and then surging back out in a single snort, raised and dropped her shoulders.
"My... Sovereigns," Kyla managed to say, her lifelight spiking with peppery fire-orange ire. "Due to the circumstances surrounding the search, I had to be absolutely certain the person I chose was suitable. Otherwise, my efforts would have done far more harm than good. And I have not failed. I did find a replacement. One that I think you'll find more than adequate for the task."
More than adequate? The words ricocheted around in Masis' mind. Kyla did not give compliments. Ever. But those three words represented a glowing endorsement, especially when considering the source. Hands folded in his lap, eyes falling to the table but not seeing any of its contents, Masis settled back into his chair, a faint glow of a smile lighting his face.
The sovereigns sat forward with the rustle of cloth and the creak of leather.
"And where is the person?" asked Queen Brishwyn.
Her question drew Masis back into the discussion. Sitting taller, he waited for Kyla to explain.
"Isn't it obvious?" asked Kyla, gesturing to Masis.
Two sets of eyes swung back to Masis. Each looked at him as though trying to pry something out of him, each attempting to find that loose bit of bark that would come away to reveal some hidden rot or insects or some other unexpected deformity. Finding no such defect, each of their expressions and lifelights sagged back.
"Well, he's not exactly what I expected of a Warden," said the king, as the queen nodded. "I have read the histories and heard the legends..."
Masis looked to Kyla for permission. She shrugged then nodded.
"...wasn't the Warden supposed to be half-man..."
Standing, Masis pushed his lifelight outward shifting into his wolvan form. He towered over the sovereigns and Master Elwith.
"...and half-beast..."
They stared up at Masis' towering proportions, jaws slack, their words having fled their mouths. Breathing shuddery, eyes fixed wide open, all three of them sat in stunned silence, comprehension slowly sinking into their minds as to what now stood before them.
"As you can see, the legends did not exaggerate," said Kyla, popping another morsel into her mouth. "They simply didn't explain it perfectly."
*DON'T FORGET TO VOTE*